


Heed the Call

by AtomicPen



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Eventual Romance, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 18:45:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,448
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4846286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AtomicPen/pseuds/AtomicPen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The most dangerous things often come in the smallest packages. At least, that's what he eventually learns.</p><p> </p><p>
  <i>ficlets and stories about Maye Hawke as she lives and fights in Kirkwall</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Well, you are a tiny little thing, aren't you?”

 “Petite.”

 “I'm sorry?”

 “The term, messere, is petite.”

 Varric looked from the ex-Grey Warden to the narrow woman beside him. She didn't look like much, but damned if she didn't have a sharp tongue on her. And it wasn't so much the words, but her tone that made you feel like an ass, Varric thought as he noted the corresponding expression that fell over the Warden's face. The poor man swallowed and tried to pick up the broken pieces of his side of the conversation.

 “Yes, well, that is a good word for it. But. You wanted my map.” Not the best save in the world, but Varric had seen and heard worse. Blondie didn't seem to have a problem making quips himself, but he was definitely caught off-guard by Hawke.

 “That's right. We're planning an Expedition in the Deep Roads, and all the entrances we know of already are collapsed or overrun with darkspawn,” Hawke explained. Her larger brother shifted behind her, glanced around the clinic. Varric wasn't sure if he was taking it all in or just didn't want to be there. The dwarf was uncertain which he leaned more toward, himself, too.

 The ex-Warden who ran the place gave a short, mirthless bark of laugh. “Let me tell you, the _entire_ Deep Roads are overrun with darkspawn. That's why shorty's fellows down there closed them all off.” The blond man motioned sharply toward Varric, who raised his hands in front of his chest.

 “Now, don't lump me in with those Stone-loving traditionalists. I was born topside, and glad of it,” he said, only mildly defensive. His brother hadn't been born on the surface, and still loved the Stone just about as much as he loved turning a profit for himself—but the ex-Warden didn't need to know that. At least, not until after they got his map, anyway. Then Varric didn't really care what he knew or didn't.

 “Hm. Well...” The ex-Warden hesitated, considering. “I would be willing to give it to you.”

 Hawke eyed him, a flash of understanding crossing her tawny eyes. “But.”

 “But you need to help me with something first.”

 Of course. Varric glowered at the blonde man. Nothing was ever easy, nothing ever came without its price. But still, a map he never used anymore? Why couldn't he just take some coin—which he obviously could use, looking at the state of the “clinic” they were meeting him in—like a regular person?

 “What do you need?” Hawke asked immediately, startling both Varric and the ex-Warden. When he didn't reply immediately, she continued. “Helping you is your price for the map, and we need the map. I can't imagine you would request anything so terrible of me that I would refuse outright.” Hawke looked the blonde man up and down. “Being a mage yourself, I can't imagine it'd be anything involving templars, either.” Her eyes, so hawk-like in of themselves to bring the raptor to mind without her surname being involved, narrowed just a hair. “A mage you know,” she said, finally, and Blondie's mouth opened and he squinted an eye at her, tilting his head to one side in utter surprise. Even Varric was impressed—he hadn't come to that conclusion quite so quickly.

 “How—how did you know?”

 Hawke shrugged, closing her eyes for a breath. “It makes the most sense. You're obviously not part of the Circle here, being an ex-Warden and all, and you help people for next to nothing.” A small sweep of her hand seemed to encompass the entire clinic. “I imagine you'd want to help out any mage in need, but the fact that you're asking for my help must mean it's something you either know you can't do alone, or aren't willing to take the risk by yourself.”

 “I... well, yes. That is pretty much the general gist of it.” The ex-Warden leaned a bit on his staff, watching Hawke with greater interest now than he had when she first walked in.

 Varric let out a low, appreciative whistle. “Damn Hawke,” he said admiringly. “You're better than I thought.”

 “I came to Kirkwall to help a friend of mine get free of the Gallows.” The ex-Warden straightened again and shook his head. “I've been exchanging letters with him for a while through a maidservant, but then they stopped coming.”

 “The Gallows doesn't really seem a terribly pleasant place,” Varric agreed. He had heard some of the rumours coming out of the Gallows through his various networks and channels, and none of the stories were pretty. Varric just hoped that even if some of the worse things had happened to this fellow's friend—as horrible as that would be, and he wouldn't wish what he'd heard on anyone—they'd still be able to get the map they needed.

 “Who is your friend?” Hawke asked.

 “He's a mage from Ferelden named Karl. He was sent here when Kirkwall's Circle needed new... talent. But in his last letters he said that the Knight-Commander is turning the Circle here into a prison.” His voice grew strained and he paced to either side restlessly as he continued. “Mages locked in their cells, refused appearances at court, made Tranquil for the slightest crimes.” He stopped and glanced back at Hawke, mouth drawn into a taught line. “I told him I would come.”

 “Well, then we shouldn't keep him waiting, now should we?”

 Varric watched Blondie's face light up like Hightown during Satinalia. Well, at least it seemed easy to get in his favour, anyway.

 “Great,” he said, surprised at the ease of her agreement. “I've sent him a message to meet me in the Chantry after nightfall. Come with me and help him escape, and you're more than welcome to my map.”

 “We'll see you tonight, then.” Hawke turned and headed back out into Darktown proper without waiting for a response or a farewell, Varric and Junior trailing close behind her.

 “I don't know about that guy...” Carver said hesitantly.

 “I think he's got some ulterior motives. Other than just us helping his friend.” In Varric's experience, no one had pure intentions, and everybody wanted something more than they were willing to admit at first. He got a mixed sense from the ex-Warden—part of him felt like he should like the man, and part of him felt like something was very, very wrong, but he couldn't put his finger on it.

 “Oh, Varric. You're always so suspicious,” Hawke gently reprimanded him. He looked up at her.

 “Well, one of us has to be,” he said, then gave her a wink. “At least until we get into the Deep Roads. I'm pretty sure we'll all have abandoned any sense we had left at that point.”

 Hawke laughed, the sound ringing bright and unusual through the dank of the Undercity, even Varric had to admit that. She threw a look over her shoulder to the haphazard clinic they had just left, her eyes shining golden in the sunlight, the fact that thoughts danced behind her expression evident, but what thoughts exactly remained a mystery. Varric thought of all the colourful descriptions he could write just by the different looks he had seen cross Hawke's face, or the ones she fixed on others—and he had only known her a couple of months. He decided he had either made the best or worst decision in his life teaming up with her. He chuckled to himself as she turned back and lead them toward the Lowtown exit on the other side of Darktown from the clinic.

 Best or worst, partnering with Hawke would certainly be the most interesting.


	2. Chapter 2

Maye was looking forward to this, she realised. At first, she thought it was just the map, and fact that they were so close to getting it. It was one of the biggest obstacles in the way of the Expedition, and if they couldn't get that, then it really didn't matter if they came up with the gold or not. If they all entered the Deep Roads at an entrance overrun with darkspawn, they might all get killed before their Expedition ever truly got started. And if they all didn't die, she was sure enough of them would that the survivors wouldn't be able to continue on. Conversely, if they tried one of the older, collapsed entrances, they couldn't even assume those places were stable enough to let them pass through and not be just as dangerous as darkspawn attacking them. Maye doubted either were viable solutions; they had to get that map.

 Carver didn't particularly want to go along with her to the Chantry, claiming he didn't care for the ex-Grey Warden they were helping. He sat on the single chair in their shared room within their uncle Gamlen's house, a whetstone balanced on his knee and a polishing cloth in his hand.

 “I just don't like him,” he said. “I told you that when we left his dingy little clinic.”

 Maye sighed. “It's not like I'm asking you to cook him dinner or knit him a sweater.” She leaned against the wall and watched him. “I'm not even asking you to be terribly polite to him if you don't want to be. I just would like you to be there. I'd feel better if you were around in case things went south.”

 Her brother set the cloth on his knee, next to the heavy greatsword lying across his lap. “Maye... I don't like him,” he repeated. “There's something off about him. If you want a strong arm, why don't you fetch Aveline?”

 Giving her obstinate brother a sidelong look, Maye said, “You know I can't do that. Aveline doesn't turn me in because we've been through a lot together, and she owes me her life.” She shook her head. “I'm not about to ask her to extend that courtesy to all the stray apostates I might meet.” Maye smiled, sweet and sincere, and pushed off the wall to cozy up against Carver's big shoulders. She only stood a few inches taller than him when he sat, and so leaned her cheek against the top of his head. “Which is why only you will do. Come protect your big sister in case she gets in trouble?”

 An exasperated groan rumbled from Carver's throat as he gently pushed her away.

 “Don't give me that, Sis. You hardly need protecting, and trouble follows you like a lost puppy.” He set his jaw as if to rebuke her again, but at the look she set on her face—the little half-smile that she knew drove directly to his heart—he gave up and rolled his eyes, sighing loudly. “Fine! I'll come along. But I still don't like him.”

 Maye bent at her waist to lean over and plant a kiss on his cheek. “Thank you, favourite brother of mine.”

 He waved her away as he would an irritating fly. “Go on,” he said, his brow knit but the softness of his voice belying the feigned annoyance. “I'm your only brother, anyhow.”

 A chuckle sounded softly from her and she straightened. “We'll need to leave soon, so pack up quick.”

 A wordless grumble was her only reply, so she crossed to the chest against the opposite wall that was hers. Sharing a room with her younger brother meant little to no privacy, but they made do. She skimmed her fingers over the tops of a few small vials, making them clink against one another as she decided which would be best to bring. Plucking up one at a time, she slipped her choices into the pouches at her belt. Living the first half of her life always going from one place to another and being prepared to do the same for the rest of it gave Maye and her late sister a more pragmatic sense of attire than most other mages she encountered.

 They both shucked the idea of robes, feeling that they would be more troublesome than not while travelling about, and also there was the fact that robes screamed “mage” a bit too loudly for an apostate's taste on the run. Instead Maye chose breeches and tall boots, with an old tunic and surcoat, both altered to fit her snugly while still allowing freedom of movement. Bethany had followed in her sister's suit, though Maye preferred bit of leather armour about her abdomen for protection while her younger sister opted for light maille. Maye's staff was sturdy ash, and only subtly adorned—some runes and glyphs carved into it, and a small iron double moon design at the top. It easily passed for a quarterstaff, which was also how she wielded it between spells or when magic was not necessary.

 Maye let out a small breath as she closed the lid on her chest and stood, glanced at her staff. Bethany had always been particular about her staves, liking them to look pretty as well as be functional. Maye never quite understood why her sister wanted such large adornments, and thought she was lucky no one ever questioned her about them.

 It was too late for thoughts like that, however. Maye couldn't save her sister, but now perhaps she had the chance to help another mage in need. Putting on a clear smile to mask the hurts she still had, she turned to Carver, who was standing and strapping his back scabbard across his chest.

 “Ready?” He nodded, and she picked up her staff, the wood warm and smooth and familiar under her fingers. “Let's not keep everyone waiting, then.”

 She lead the way out of the Lowtown hovel, giving both their mother and their uncle a little wave as they left, with Carver silent behind her. Within a few minutes they swung around the back entrance of the Hanged Man and picked up Varric, who slid a few extra bolts into the quiver hanging at his side.

 “Do you really think you'll need so many?” Carver asked. “In a Chantry?”

 The dwarf eyed him. “What, you don't think you'll need that huge piece of steel on your back, then? Junior, the Chantry's only the starting place. If we're really helping this mage escape Kirkwall, we'll have to contend with all that might mean. C'mon. We've cleared out half a dozen thugs who'd love nothing more than to cut our throats and watch us bleed. Of course I'm bringing this many bolts.” He walked around Carver to take Maye's other flank, shaking his head a little and chuckling under his breath.

 “Well—I mean—okay, so you have a point,” griped Carver, then fell silent.


End file.
